


some nights (i stay up, cashing in my bad luck)

by meega



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, F/F, Post 1x06, Self-Harm, Sharks, Toni get's bitten instead of Rachel, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meega/pseuds/meega
Summary: Shelby tries to comfort Toni after the events of 1x06 and it all seems to go pretty well, or at least as well as it can go with them; but then the next day, a shark attacks.
Relationships: Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe
Comments: 12
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: maybe instead of Nora and Rachel being involved in the shark attack it’s Toni after she said ‘I don’t matter’ and the girls are all reflecting what Toni said and Shelby is scared of losing her soulmate and hoping she makes it out. It’s quite angsty again but don’t we all live for that.
> 
> Hope i made justice to the idea Anon!

_“I don’t matter!”_

You’re taken aback, shivering, the cold night air sneaking through your shirt, caressing your sunburnt skin without even an inch of apprehension. The other girls surround you but it’s like you have tunnel vision, it’s just you and her. And your chest seems to shrivel under Toni’s daring glare, her arm protectively draped over Martha’s shuddering body. There are tears unshed crystalizing over her eyes and the wind whips her hair around in time with the murmur of the waves behind you. And you’re stuck. She’s _blaming_ you for saving her?

“Fuck, I don’t–” her voice breaks and she turns back to Martha, and you wonder whether it is to hide the pain from you, to hide the broken look in her fiery features, or to check on Marty. She leans into her own shoulder then, maybe to wipe a tear, maybe for comfort. And you will your body to move forward, to put a hand on her shoulder, to hug her, to assure her everything will be fine, but your body doesn’t respond, “I don’t matter.”

Her voice is small as she repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer, like it’ll somehow bring Marty back, cure her. Her life for Martha’s, she seems to be praying. _I don’t matter, but she does. Take me, spare her._

Someone’s talking in front of you. Leah? But you’re stuck watching Toni’s small frame shivering under the harsh wind. You should cover her, give her a jacket or something. Or at least you should give them space, privacy. You’re nothing to them, just an uptight Christian girl, a _hateful_ , uptight Christian girl. Someone who dared save Toni instead of Martha, as if you’d known this would happen. You think about Toni’s face, so full of sorrow but also hate, despise. You wonder for a moment whether it was truly meant for you or for herself, for letting herself be saved instead of Martha, instead of someone _better_ than her, someone who did, in fact, matter. _Of course, it was for you_ , a deep, familiar voice chimes in, _she loathes you, and you loathe her. It’s the way it must be because she’s a sinner and you’re a Christian_. You, huff, violently pushing that voice away before finally looking up, catching the last of what Leah’s explaining.

“…and I guess I dropped the bag and– and everything just,” a pause, like she’s regretting the whole speech, “spilled.”

It’s like Dot physically charges before pushing Leah, all her frustration for one steady push. Leah recoils immediately, unsteadily stepping back, but then she’s looking back at Dot, almost ready for a second push.

“Why didn’t you tell any of us before?” Dot’s spitting venom, angry eyes drawn on Leah.

“I’m sorry, I’m so–” Leah struggles to speak but Dot doesn’t wait, “Where’ve you dropped it? You need to take me there. Now, Leah.”

Leah doesn’t waste time, sprinting towards the fire and picking a small, lit branch for light, Dot close behind. They disappear into the tree line in seconds. As the tension of the argument starts to leave your body, and the girls around you start pulling back from Martha, instead looking for somewhere to sit and wait until they return, you spare Toni a look and find her crumbled, her face on Martha’s chest and her arm religiously caressing her arm, and for a moment you see her heave, tremble. She’s crying. And what can you do about it?

_And why do you care?_ That same deep, sneery voice calls from inside of you and you feel like vomiting. Of course you care, you think, there’s only love inside of you, no hate. There’s only love, _God’s love_ , because you’re His instrument, because you follow His words. He says you must always care for the wounded, that you must help them heal. _That’s_ why you care, you bite back at the voice. It stays silent after that, but you can just imagine the smile it still holds, in silence; it knows, and it mocks.

You stand from your spot and turn to the fire. Toni doesn’t notice. You sit down on the sand and pull on your jacket and hug your knees close to your chest in efforts of regaining even a fraction of your body’s normal heat. _That’s enough,_ you scold yourself, _enough of it all_. You’ll stop thinking about it and it’ll go away as it always has. You will think of something else, or you’ll think of nothing.

You’ll pray; yes, you’ll pray.

You reach up to your cross and start a silent prayer, closing your eyes. But the only thing you can see on the inside of your eyelids is Toni’s face.

_“Who cares?!”_ her voice rings in your ears, demanding in a way that makes you believe it’s obvious the answer is no one, and your heart shrivels inside of you. You tell yourself it is because no one should feel like that. Everyone should at least have Him. Or someone.

Leah and Dot arrive a long while later. You wonder where exactly Leah dropped the bag.

Dot goes directly to Martha, kneeling beside her and pulling something from her shorts’ pocket. Slowly, softly, she places a hand over Toni’s shoulder. The girl jumps, snarls at Dot, but then you see her speak, something too low for you to hear over the rumble of the waves. And Toni looks away, leaning back and allowing Dot to raise Martha’s barely conscious head. Between the two, they give her the pill and some water, you guess, because soon enough they’re helping her back into the fire’s circle.

Meanwhile, Leah walks. She passes by them without even looking, her eyes lost on the horizon where the moon draws erratic patters on light against the surf. And she walks and walks until she’s as small as a fingernail, and then you see her drop onto the sand.

“So dramatic.” You hear Fatin chuckle beside you and you turn to find her watching Leah too.

“She must be feeling real awful.” You try. She spares you a look like she’s considering you, but doesn’t comment, and suddenly you wish you hadn’t talked at all. They’re still giving you the silent treatment, of sorts. You sigh, pulling your knees closer to your chest to try and suffocate the turmoil of feelings inside of you.

Dot and Toni lay Martha with her back to one of the salvaged airplane seats, her head propped against it, and cover her in jackets and Fatin’s scarfs. Dot sits beside her, a can of water on her hand at the ready and a stern look on her eyes. But Toni remains standing. There’s a strange look on her face. Tears have cleaned a path down her dirty cheeks, her jaw is set like always, but she watches Martha with a silent anger that has you baffled. Why is she angry now?

Suddenly, almost as if she sensed your eyes on her, she turns to you. You wait for the bite, for the usual gritty comment, the spitting contest between the two of you that’s been, somehow, the highlight and the worst part of your day-to-day life in this hellhole.

But it doesn’t come. Her eyes roam you face for a moment before settling on your eyes. And you feel same parts scared and intrigued. It reminds you of the feeling of expectation you experience when you go hunting with your father. When you’re hiding out, waiting patiently for a buck to rise from the foliage, to show itself. And then you see it, and it’s like it sees you, and you’re both just waiting for the other to act. For it to run, for you to shoot. You want to say something, the temptation to tease growing, but you’re, again, froze in your place, the space between the two of so charged you’re surprised the smell of ozone hasn’t started filling your nostrils. She narrows her eyes at you, very slightly. And then just as suddenly, she turns away. She’s storming off a moment later and you’re left with a single question hanging from your lips, _are you okay?_

//

Leah returns a few minutes later, silently. No one comments as the rest all lay down and try to lure in a little of that elusive sleep you can’t help hating. It’s a miracle any of you sleep at all, but then when you do, you dream. And then you don’t really know what’s worse. The endless nights lying awake, listening to your companions as they struggle with the terror of their own subconsciousness; or closing your eyes and encountering a restless slumber filled with crashing and swimming and drowning, and the eternal itch of sand everywhere, swallowing you whole, and then the screams and the beasts that might be lurking just out of the corner of your eye, and so much more. The island scares you. But then, on top of all of that, there’s the other dreams. Dreams of rescue, of returning, of _family._ You hate yourself for dreading those the most.

And so, you stay awake, tending the fire, watching Dot as she watches over Martha. There’s a feeling of unrest you can’t seem to shake off and you concentrate on Martha, telling yourself you’re worried for her. But then a small part of you tears your eyes from her limp body and stares off into the long stretch of sand that spreads behind her. Where Toni disappeared.

And in the dead of night, as the stars start coming out and the breathings around you even out, you allow yourself some rest. Or rather, you give in to it. Your shoulders slowly start to sag, and you hang your head as you finally allow your thought free reign. You know exactly where they’ll go even before the words start ringing around your ears.

_“Who cares?” “I don’t matter!” “She’s got a family!”_

You shake your head, looking down in efforts to settle the overwhelming fear and pain that suddenly erupts in your chest. You’re about to cry, you know that, and Dot’s _right there_ so you excuse yourself and stand, heading away in the same direction Toni left. Dot doesn’t comment, just asks of you to take care and come back safe.

//

You find her sitting on the surf, legs spread wide and hands playing with a mountain of sand as she stares down, eyebrows pulled, and jaw clenched. You’re about to tease, something about going a long way just to build a sandcastle, but the words die in your throat as you come closer and hear her. You hear the sobs, soft and erratic, as they rip through her curled-up body, the whimpers. She’s too upset to even hear you approach.

You stop a few feet away and wait for her to notice you. When she doesn’t, you clear your throat. Her whole demeanor changes in a second. Her back arches, straightening, as she brings up a hand to wipe at her face.

“The fuck you want, Shelby.” She bites at you, quickly looking away, and, where you in literally any other conversation, you’d feel the acid response bubbling up your throat, but not now. Now, you only feel the magnetic pull of compassion, of seeing her pain and feeling it at the same time. She’s laying on the beach like 4-year-old playing with the sand, upset her dad didn’t buy her the blue lollypop that the nice man at the stand was selling.

You kneel down and watch her. She hasn’t looked your way once since she noticed you were there. But her back’s straight and her muscles taunt, as if ready for a blow, for a strike. The tears keep on coming, but she swallows each sob with a practiced ease you envy a little.

You wonder where she learned that. Where she learned to keep quiet, to face down, to walk away when things got too hard and emotional. Where she learned her outbursts were dangerous, that crying wasn’t something to be shared, that maybe alone was better. You think back on the shelter-building exercise. How she’d blown up. You guess this is what happens after the bow-up.

“I was just…” you start, feeling that practiced smile slip onto your lips, the one that loves pretending everything’s just _peachy_ , but you stop, and swallow thickly, and then continue without it, “Are you a’right, Toni?”

She laughs, mirthlessly. She looks up and laughs loudly and ironically and you’re taken aback. Then she turns to you with fire in her dark eyes, lips pulled into a snarl. Her hands dig deep into the sand as if she’s keeping them busy there instead of at your neck.

“What do you fucking think?”

You’re at a loss for words but she doesn’t seem to care. She turns back to the ocean and points a finger but there’s nothing to point at. There’s only darkness, the periodic crash of the waves, and the moon.

“Marty almost died. And if she did–” her voice breaks for a moment, but she continues, her breath coming in short puffs. “If she’d died. Then I’d had to go home and explain to _her_ mom that her daughter died so that _I_ , the stupid, useless kid who always needed a place to stay, could return to keep on being her burden.”

“Toni–” you try scooting closer, but she turns to you in a fury, overflowing with anger and pain.

“Don’t you fucking ‘Toni’ me.” She’s breathing hard, shivering, sobs interrupting her speech, but she ignores it all. Your eyes are locked, and you feel as if a steel serpent has entered your chest, wrapping itself around your organs, squeezing everything before biting at your heart, and you try not to cry as you listen. It’s the only thing you can do, “I know who I am. I know how you all see me. I destroy every-fucking-thing. I’m too much I– I shouldn’t have survived. You wasted that pill on me. I shouldn’t–”

She gets quiet after that, head turned back to the sand as her hands start digging again. You step closer, unsure of what she’ll do next but sure of one thing: you need to be close.

“Don’t touch me, please.” She warns, but her voice is low and small and pleading. You can see her more clearly now and notice she’s not just digging, she’s repeating the same motion over and over again; stab the sand, pull up a bunch, then press it down again. Repeat. “I’ll hurt you.”

“No, you won’t.” and you voice doesn’t quiver in spite of everything. You wait for an answer, but she just ignores you, keeping her hands in motion, trying to steady her breathing, looking straight at the sand with absorption and fury.

You dare a hand to her shoulder, and she flinches. You see the warning, the wary side-eye she gives you, the pull of her muscles, and you suck in a breath.

“Shelby…” she tries to make it sound like a warning, but it comes out pleading and you pull her close.

She falls against your chest in a second, hands covered in sand clinging to your shoulders as you try to wrap your arms around her shivering back.

“Fuck.” She mutters, over and over, and she weeps, and whimpers and you hold her.

It takes her a long time to settle.

You’ve moved a little closer so that you’re both more comfortable, your arms round her back, her forehead pressed against your shoulder. She’s curled up against you and you can’t help comparing how small she looks, feels, now, versus the bravado she constantly puts up that make her seem almost six-feet-tall.

“You do matter, Toni.” You mutter once the only sound that reaches your ears is the motion of the waves in front of you. She looks up then. She looks confused and tired and you can’t help your eyes from wandering down to her parted lips.

“But I don’t.”

Then a laugh, rasp and husk and strangled, leaves her lips. You look at her confused for a moment.

“Can’t believe I’m here with _you_ of all people.” She sits back, untangling herself from your arms. You’re confused and a little hurt, but you pull back too and watch her, waiting for an explanation.

She looks away, “What does it say about me that the one who _hates me_ is the only one worrying about me?”

You try not to look hurt, “I don’t hate you Toni.” But your voice comes out small and hesitant.

“Oh, but you do.” and her mocking smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she watches the bleak waves ahead.

You scoff, “I don’t–” but you stop, “I– it’s just what–” and you’re about to excuse yourself again, _that’s what I’ve been taught_ , that smile that comes to you so often and easily, _everything’s peachy and I’m a nice, Christian girl who could never do anything bad,_ already set in place; but you school your features and start again, knowing that the truth will be the only thing Toni will accept, and the only fair thing you can offer her at this point, “It’s what I’m expected.”

And you can’t help the bite in your tone, the bitter resentment that a sentence that small carries.

She turns back and narrows her eyes at you, “Expected?” she sounds both angry and disbelieving, like it’s a joke and a slur at the same time.

You look away, trying to find your words as a nervous laugh escapes your lips in an airy puff, all that bitterness falling as you have her eyes, so intense, on you again, “You don’t know how it is, Toni. There’s so many expectations that I’m always supposed to keep up with, no matter _where_ I go, I _must_ be a certain way and I–”

“Okay, so, your hate for me is like, what? A prerequisite for your existence?”

You wet your lips. No, she’s getting it all wrong and you’re starting to get frustrated and that always messes up your words, so you try to breathe, looking down for a moment before responding, “No, Toni, It’s just that it’s really, _really_ hard to–”

“Okay Becky, don’t talk to me about hard, alright?” you try to stop her, _that’s not what I mean,_ but she’s on a roll as she leans closer, sitting up on her knees to tower over you, “My dad’s been a no-show since day one and my mom’s in and out of rehab like it’s a fucking White Castle, alright? _And_ I’m not out there attacking people for who they are, so just don’t talk to me about hard.”

You raise to your knees too as anger and frustration boil over in your chest. You’re desperate, you _need_ her to understand, above anything else. You need _someone_ to get you, to see you. you need her to see you.

“But you’re free! Don’t you get that?”

And you’re inches apart now, somehow, and she’s staring at you with an inferno in her dark eyes, ready to either burn it all up or fizzle out, and your mouth feels dry as you glance down at her parched lips again.

“You’re free too, Shelby. Fuck, here there’s no one to expect _anything_ from you. And if you’re not taking advantage of that then I don’t know what to tell you” but her voice is small and a little watery, and you know it’s not the place. You know it’s wrong, and you shouldn’t, but you raise your eyes and find hers looking down at your lips and it’s a moment, just a moment, and then you’re leaning forward, and she’s leaning too and–

But you stop yourself.

Your hands are on her face, cradling her wet cheeks, and you wonder how they got there. In an instant you lower them to her shoulders to try and pull her away. You need to think and she’s so close that the only thing in your mind is her lips and how they’d taste, her words, _‘…if you’re not taking advantage of that then I don’t know what to tell you.’_. You do, you _want_ to, but something pulls you back.

_Not now_ , a new voice in your head seems to whisper, _this isn’t the moment_.

Toni seems to realize it, too, as she swallows thickly before pulling away to look you in the eyes, and there’s understanding there.

“Not yet.” You mutter. She nods, a million different thoughts seeming to pass behind her eyes. But the inferno’s settled into a gentle, warm flame, and you can see something else beside it, maybe an invitation, maybe a possibility, maybe a _someday_.

//

You don’t remember when exactly you went to sleep, but you wake up with a headache and a face full of sand. What’s new?

And then the memories pile back on.

Toni.

“Wakey wakey, party people.” Fatin’s unenthusiastic voice pulls you from your reverie. Around you, you notice the rest of the girls are already getting ready for the day, stretching and walking around and munching on old protein bars. Apparently, the two of you walked back to camp at one point during the night.

You search for a mop of wild, brown curls, narrowed brown eyes and a wiry frame, as your stomach clenches, but you don’t find her anywhere.

Then you notice Nora. She’s out by the sea, almost knee deep on the waves. The ocean’s calm today, but you’re curious as to why she’s there at all. The wind whips at her clothes and hair, but she remains set, her eyes scanning the horizon. You approach her.

“Morning Nora.” You greet with a smile. She doesn’t turn, “Morning Shelby.”

“What’ya up to?”

“Toni.” She simply says, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she steppes a little deeper in.

“What?”

She points out and for the first time you search the waves. They’re calm on the shore, yes, but you can see them getting bigger the deeper your look and, clear enough, your eyes catch on to a red shirt in the middle of it all.

“What in God’s name–” you’re too stunned to speak for a moment as you stumble, trying to get closer, but Nora speaks before you can repeat your question, “She’s been out there since I woke up. We tried calling but she ignored us. Dot said someone had to keep an eye on her and I volunteered.”

Perplex, you stand and watch alongside Nora. She’s just floating there, her face turned up into the sky as the waves seem to pull her every which way in a gentle lull.

“Isn’t it, like, dangerous?”

Nora shook her head, “Not really. She clearly knows how to swim so I’d say she’s just trying to relax. I say good for her, she kind of needed it.”

She turns to you with a mischievously smile then and you force a chuckle through your nerves.

“Can you take over? I need to pee.”

Nora was right. You feel your nerves relax after you’ve been standing there for over ten minutes and nothing’s happened. She’s just floating there, paddling every once in a while, submerging only to resurface a moment later. You wonder what she’s thinking.

No, scratch that. You know what she’s thinking.

Last night when you–

You were there, hugging her and you–

You almost–

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the mess that’s up there. Instinctively, you reach up and press your cross between your finger and thumb, but no prayer comes to your mind.

You sigh, looking up again. There she is, one wave picking her up and raising her before she falls, and then another wave shields her from your view and… what’s that thing beside her?

For a moment you think it’s a part of the wreckage. Maybe another suitcase floating around or a part of the fuselage of the plane, or something. But then the slick skin catches the light of the sun and you recognize it.

“TONI!”

You voice breaks into a shrill, but you don’t stop. You’re running into the water now, screaming her name, unaware of how crazy you might sound to everyone else. You’re desperate.

She turns to you but she’s too damn calm, so you point behind her and scream, “SHARK!” but she doesn’t seem to get it, so you repeat it, and repeat it, and repeat it.

Once the water reaches your chest, you sense someone beside you, fighting alongside you against the crashing waves to get closer. Rachel. She overpasses you just as Toni turns and realization dawns on her, and now she’s thrashing and panicking, trying to swim away. But the creature dips lower, and the fin disappears, and your heart’s racing, clinging to your throat and roiling your stomach into a pretzel.

And the waves stop you from helping her, they push you back in the same motion they push her away and it’s like running on a dream. Thankfully, Rachel makes better progress. She’s already swimming properly, past the break of the waves and approaching Toni while you’re stuck with the water to your chest and foam everywhere, but you continue.

That’s when Toni’s head is pulled down. She’s sunken and the last thing you see is the surprise in her bright brown eyes before it’s gone and, even if the waves keep crushing against you, the world is suddenly eerily quiet.

“Toni!” Rachel’s voice pulls you back as the other girl throws herself at the spot where Toni’s head was a second ago. You’re swimming to them now, finally able to overcome the waves, but you’re not so sure where to go from here. You can’t find any one of them, Toni, Rachel, or the shark. And then, for the first time, you think about how dumb and dangerous it was for you to jump to her rescue, just like that.

But then something breaks the surface and Rachel’s screaming your name, and she’s struggling with something in her arms and you swim.

//

The blood flows like a river all the way from your little camp down to the waves, uninterrupted and endless. You try not to cry, not to whimper and shiver or make a single noise, but it’s starting to overwhelm you as you silently pray, over and over, one single plea, _save her, God please, save her_. You’re kneeling beside her, her cold hand in yours, but she’s unconscious and the sheer fucking amount of blood that’s coming out of her wounds alone should have already killed her.

“Fuck, please Dottie you’ve got to save her, I can’t lose her. God, please save her.” The words leave your mouth before you even think about censoring yourself and you find out, as you caress her limp arm and tears stream down your cheeks, that you don’t really care. You just don’t care anymore.

“I’m trying Shelby, it’ll be alright.” Dot answers in a tight voice.

You look down at the wound then. Thankfully, the shark was only able to graze her, not biting off a huge chunk but leaving her with a large gash on her side instead. And the only thing in the island to cover it where Fatin’s scarfs right now, which is what Dot’s currently pressing to Toni’s side. The red shirt’s in pieces, tattered from both the shark’s teeth and the girls’ desperate attempts to reach the wound.

“Fuck, I think I know what we have to do.” Dot’s voice was covered in panic, but she somehow managed to keep it steady as she pressed down on the wound, the blue scarf in her hand turned red a long time ago, “Rachel, I need you to take the axe and put it over the fire, okay?”

What?”

“Trust me I saw it on Survival once, it’ll work.”

You stomach churns at her explanation.

“She wants to cauterize the wound with the heated-up axe.” Nora rationalizes. But it is as if your brain is in autopilot. You suddenly don’t care. You just want for the blood to stop, for her eyes to open so you can give her that kiss you’d promised last night, so you can tell her how much she matters, so you can hear her voice again, see those caramel eyes and their untamed energy again. You will even settle with fighting with her again, bickering, even insulting each other, if it means she’s back.

“Fuck, I can’t watch.” Leah’s voice makes you turn just in time to see the axe over the fire. It’s started glowing a little as the heat concentrates on the metal.

“Is that okay?” Rachel asks, her eyes weary on the axe. Dot raises her head and nods, “Yeah, pass it over.”

Rachel approaches and gives her the axe and you squeeze Toni’s hand in efforts to get yourself under control.

“Now, I need all of you to hold her down, alright?”

“Why? She’s unconscious.” Fatin asks.

“She’ll probably wake up from this.”

You grab her arm and pin it to the sand as the rest find their positions around you. Martha, who’d been sitting beside you, takes her leg. Fatin and Nora take the other one, Leah takes one shoulder, Rachel holds down the other side of her abdomen – the one not bitten –, and Dot kneels on Toni’s other arm to keep it down. And she presses the axe down.

Her screams rip the air and startle you, almost making you let go. She’s thrashing and pulling and punching in seconds, and you’re struggling against the force of it, but Dot’s instructing you to hold so you put all of the strength left in your body to it and ignore her cries. Her voice breaks over and over, it shreds itself raw as her desperation solidifies into cries and cusses and senseless vowels that you think you’ll remember till the day you die.

And then for a moment you hear another sound, the sound of the skin getting seared by the axe’s heat, and you’re about to vomit. That is until the smell reaches your nostrils. It smells like the fourth of July barbeque that’s celebrated at your church, you think, and you retch right there on the sand behind you.

But you keep holding on and so do the other girls, and Toni keeps on screaming bloody murder.

After what feels like an eternity, Dot pulls the axe away and leans back, and Toni’s screams turn into whimpers. You reach up and cradle her face. She’s sweating and pale and trembling, her eyes closed but her mouth moving, pleading. She’s shivering uncontrollably and, once the rest let go, she slowly curls into herself until she’s no bigger than Marcus.

“Toni. Toni, you okay?” Martha’s beside you and you’re thankful because you want to ask the same thing, but your lips are trembling too much to form anything more than a grimace.

Toni doesn’t respond. She just keeps on crying.

You don’t realize it but the rest crowd around you, giving enough space for the three of you to breath, but never leaving Toni out of sight. Dot falls back onto the sand and throws the axe far away, resting her head on her hands. Rachel and Leah sit side by side a little off on a log of driftwood, and Fatin and Nora stand a few feet away, the first worrying her lip and the second twisting the hem of her shirt anxiously.

“Toni.” You mean to speak kindly, to call softly, but your voice has other plans. It sounds commanding and, for a moment, nothing happens, but then she opens one eyes slightly and you take the chance. With a watery voice you continue, “Toni please, we just need you to tell us if you’re okay, just stay awake for a moment, a’right?”

And then she smiles faintly, and her voice is soft and weak, and you almost miss it behind the eternal murmur of the ocean and the wind and the trees and this wicked island that is set on taking everything from you, “How is it possible for you to sound even _more_ Texan when you’re worried.”

And everybody laughs, and you allow yourself a moment to laugh alongside of them as relief flows through your every nerve, “Jesus Christ, Toni, you scared the shit out of us.”

She exhales long before she speaks, “You say your prayers with that mouth?”

“Oh, now she’s flirting?” you hear Fatin whisper behind you, but you ignore her in favor of basking in the relief that is seeing the small smile that spreads out on her lips, still trembling and so tired but bright, nonetheless.

“You good, Shalifoe?” Dot’s voice asks from the other side. Toni turns her head slightly, trying to see the other girl without moving too much before responding, “Fine now that you’ve fucking burned a fucking hole in my abs, thank you very much.”

“A million girls are weeping the loss of those abs, I’m sure.” Leah laughs and the group soon joins her. It seems as if the tension of the attack is slowly dripping off, but you can’t seem to keep up. Her head is on your lap and she’s still trembling, and the blood is still dripping out of a few more gashes here and there.

“Nah, chicks dig scars, they make you look tougher.” Fatin adds.

But Toni cringes for a moment before muttering under her breath, “It fucking hurts, too.” slowly settling against your lap, her eyes closing slightly.

“Hey Dottie? You got any more of those painkillers?” you ask. The group silences for a moment and Dot perks up, immediately looking for the pilot’s bag, “Of course.”

“General rule from now on,” Nora calls as Dot starts rummaging through the bag, “No swimming out in the open. Please.”

Toni doesn’t speak again. They give her the pills and some water, and then she’s asleep, and then you can’t move because she’s got her head on your lap and her hand grips the fabric of your pants, and as Dot starts using the little amount of bandages the pilot had to cover the burned mark and close the smaller scratches and tears on her skin, you start to religiously comb back her hair in efforts of settling your rushing heart. You look up at the tree line, eyes fixed on the movement of the leaves. You can’t dare looking at the ocean in the off chance the shark’s still there, you can’t look at you friends around you, because you can see the worry in their faces, and you can’t look down because she’s still so weak and small and even if she’s sleeping now, and you can feel the rise and fall of her chest against your legs, you worry about it stopping, you worry about seeing her limp body against Rachel’s arms again as the taller girl pulled her out of the water. You worry about the blood and the wounds and _Jesus_ she’s moving a little and –

“Hey, Shelby?”

You jump and Nora steps back, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You try to smile before stilling your hand over Toni’s forehead for a moment and noticing how hot it is, “Good God, she’s burning up.”

//

You spend the day like that, her head on your lap until Leah comes to relieve you, convincing you to go eat something and get changed out of your still bloody and soaked clothes. But you return as soon as you can, and nobody says anything, but you can feel their eyes on your back. You ignore them.

Around midday she stirs a little, and you give her water and a few peanuts before she’s sleeping again.

She wakes up properly around sundown and she startles you awake too, as you’d been drifting in and out of consciousness since lunch. She tries to sit up and almost falls back down, arms weak and in pain, if you hadn’t reached out. You help her settle against the airplane seat cushions in silence as you hear someone come closer.

Fatin’s sitting next to you a moment later, “So, how you feelin’ Toni?”

“ _Fantastic_ , Fatin, what do you think?”

Fatin chuckles, “Well, I thought that since your little swimming adventure, I don’t know, maybe you’d be a little tired.”

“Fuck you.”

You hear the two of them laugh.

“Hey, Shelby, you okay?”

You look up when you hear your name. Toni’s looking expectantly at you and you shake your head, a small smile appearing on your lips as you try to explain the strange fascination you’d suddenly acquired as you watched the tips of your nails and the dried-up blood there.

“Uh-huh? Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just gotta go wash my hands is all. I’ll be right back.” and you stand without waiting for an answer.

You scurry to the shore, head down and away from the waves. You know it’s silly, but you still can’t look up. Once you catch the water reaching your feet, you crouch down and start to furiously scrub at the blood under your fingernails.

“Y’know, the shark’s gone. You can look up.”

Dot’s voice makes you stop. You didn’t even realize she’d approached. When you don’t answer, you feel her crouch beside you. Slowly, her hand reaches out to yours and she grips your fingers lightly.

“You alright there, Goodkind?”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, Dottie, why wouldn’t I be?”

You turn to look at her and you see worry in her eyes, and something else, pity? She bites her lip for a moment before responding, “Well, Toni got bit by a fucking shark so, like, we’re all kind’a panicky, I guess. And, well, it’s really none of my business, but you seemed specially affected by it? I don’t know, maybe you wanted to talk about it.”

You choke on your own spit before standing abruptly. Dot follows a moment later but you’re already walking away.

“Wait, Shelby, I didn’t mean to–”

“There’s nothing wrong, Dorothy.” You try to sound stern, but your voice quivers. You walk stiffly along the shore, hands close to your sides and the wind wiping at the mess that is your hair, and the only thing in your mind is escaping, “I’m _fine._ ”

“Shelby, stop.” She grabs your arm and pulls hard, and you almost fall as you come to a stop. You turn, anger boiling inside of you, “Dottie, stop. Please.” You can’t look her in the eye, fearing the pity in them.

“Shelby, it’s okay. I was just worried, maybe you weren’t dealing with it very well. We were _all_ concerned. It was a fucking scary thing to see.” She keeps her hold on your arm, as if to put emphasis on her words. You keep looking away, into the tree line, at the dancing leaves, at the mountain behind it, praying for Dot to go away as the fear climbs up your throat again, “Fuck, I found Fatin rocking back and forth after lunch, mid panic attack; and Rachel’s been up on the cliff, just staring out into the sea for the past, like, four hours. But we’re all in it together, y’know? You can lean on us, that’s all I’m saying.”

After a moment you look at her. There’s no pity, just worry. True worry, and kindness, and you wonder if maybe you misread her eyes before. Kindness and pity are only separated by quite a thin line, you think, and more often than not you’ve encountered the second one.

“I–” you start as your voice cracks a little, “I think I _maybe_ , have grown a little attached to her.” You say, because the truth still hurt too much, still makes you cry and boil with shame, but you’re ready to maybe give Dot a glimpse, and you pray she understands.

She smiles slowly, letting go of your arm before chuckling. You try looking away but she’s smiling conspiratorially, and you can tell she got it alright. A blush creeps up your cheeks and you look away, hoping the sunburned patches on your face will manage to cover for it.

“So, no more Westboro Baptists shit?”

You sigh, suddenly going through all the things in your mind reminding you of home, of your father and his sermons, and of the church and your friends there and your family, you aunts and uncles and grandparents. But then you think about Becca. And then of what happened today. How you risked it all for a kiss, even back then. How your heart leaped out of your chest when you saw the shark’s fin, how you threw yourself out there, as a crappy swimmer into shark-infested waters, just for _her._

So, you shake your head, the answer coming easier than ever. You know there’s a lot behind it, and you know you’ll come back to it frequently on the days, even the years, to come. You’ll doubt yourself, as you doubt even now, and you’ll be scared as you are now, but there’ll be a newfound security in your words, the one you’re just finding out now in looking Dot in the eyes and nodding, and saying, “Yeah. You can tell Fatin I got that cross out of my ass now. No more of that.”

Dot hugs you then, surprisingly.

But Fatin’s voice interrupts your moment.

“Hey Dorothy! I think we need you here!”

Dot lets go and turn immediately, and you raise your eyes to look back at camp where Fatin stands, gesturing for you to approach, as the rest of the girls circle Toni. And your heart drops to the ground.

The two of you sprint the short way back. Once you reach them and the rest part, your eyes find Toni’s pained expression – eyes tightly shut, jaw clenched and lips pursed, eyebrows drawn and head tilted back, facing the clouds – and then Leah’s hands. She’s pulling Toni’s shirt up and pulling the bandages to the side and there, in her skin, you see the same telltale colors you’d all found on Jeanette’s body minutes after she stopped breathing.

“She’s bleeding internally.” Leah’s voice is panicked, and you remember she was the one to pull Jeanette in. You wonder if she’s having flashbacks to those moments on that first day, “Dot, what do we do? We’ve got to do something.”

“Fuck, I–” Dot stutters as the rest look to her, “I don’t know.”

//

As a group, you decide to wait. The bruise is not too big or too dark, and so Nora theorizes maybe it is just that – a bruise. So, you return to your spot, dutifully watching over Toni, except this time with Martha and Dot by your side. Your job’s to keep her awake, even if it entails a lot of swearing and complaining thrown at you, while Martha tries to keep her drinking small sips of water and Dot watches over her bruise.

//

The sun is setting when you see the rafts.

“Look!” Martha’s the first one to catch them, on her feet in a second, kicking up sand as she struggles closer to the waves. Your whole body tenses up at the thought of another shark, but then the rest pick up on whatever Martha saw, and they’re hugging and cheering, and you’re confused.

“Oh, my fucking God!” Dot calls beside you, a smile stretching across her face as she, too, watches over the horizon.

And then Toni opens her eyes to sneak a peek, and her whole face falls for a moment in surprise, before she’s smiling, wide and _happy._ You don’t think you’ve ever seen her smile so widely.

So, you turn, and you see them.

Three boats, small, are racing to shore in almost perfect formation.

Rescue.

//

There are four men, and they don’t speak. Dressed in all black, dark glasses and muscles all over.

Of course, everyone’s calling to them and pointing to Toni, but everything’s going too fast and you’re confused, _how did they find us?_ , but then they’re picking her up and you’re calling to them because, _God_ , you have to be careful she’s _hurt_ , but they ignore you in favor of placing her limp body on the floor of the boat and jumping in before speeding away, and you’re left standing on the shore, screaming her name as the small, grey boat disappears in the distance.

Ans then another man yanks you back, wrapping steely arms around you and pulling. You’re thrashing and screaming and scared because nothing makes sense and you’re worried, and _how did they know?_ But he isn’t even phased as he drags you until you see the other raft in front of you, and Fatin’s face appears in your view, and she’s talking, trying to calm you down.

They help you into the raft and then the island is disappearing on the distance, losing itself in the horizon, among the dark green blaze of the ocean’s surface.

_How did they find us?_

_What will happen now?_

_What will happen to Toni?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Self-harm, right about the first half. I'll add a little * to the scene so you can skip it if you need to. There's a small reference to it, too, on the next scene so that'll have a small * too.

You miss the island.

You know you shouldn’t. It’s stupid, it’s _crazy_ to miss such a place _._ It was a literal living Hell. But there’s no sun here, no day or night, no breeze, no sounds of waves rocking against the shore, no sounds at all, really, and no people. No girls, no Dot with her kind, steady presence. No Rachel, with her constant push to do more, no Nora with her sarcastic jokes. No Leah with her weirdness, no Martha with her true optimism and kindness, no Fatin and her toothbrush, and, on top of it all, no fiery Toni. You can’t seem to get her out of your mind. Her voice, raspy and low, her eyes always boring into yours, her face, her hair, her arms, her _everything._ But she’s not there. You’re not even sure if she’s even still alive.

Only two strange FBI agents who’ve interrogated you twice already.

You don’t know what to think of it all and it’s driving you mad. The last time you saw the girls was when you arrived at a small pier where a couple of nurses appeared to lead you into some kind of low building right by the beach. You couldn’t tell if it was another island or back in the US or what; you could only see the concrete building in front and endless strips of jungle and beach to either side before you crossed the threshold. That’s when you lost them. Each was led into a different room, through tight hallways that led deeper and deeper, down elevators and past steel doors, concrete walls, into examination rooms and, eventually, to your own private bedroom with its set of fresh sweats and underwear, everything exactly your size, and a bed and a bathroom.

They say you’ve got to stay inside because of the quarantine. You can’t see anyone other than the agents and that nice, young nurse that comes to check on you every morning.

Or at least you _think_ it’s morning, since you don’t have windows or clocks, but it’s when the automatic lights all turn on, so it’s your best guess.

You’ve tried to talk to her, of course. At first, you were desperate. You’d spent the whole first night awake, your eyes dry, your head pounding of exhaustion, but awake and alert, your heartbeat drumming incessantly against your chest, the sound of blood rushing through your ears driving you up the walls. You were afraid of strangers coming into your room, of being trapped there, of something, _anything,_ happening to you, to the others, and especially of Toni and whatever was happening to her. Was she alive, even?

You prayed and prayed and prayed, the words soon losing their meaning from repetition. _Please, Lord, in thy mercy, give me strength to survive this as I have survived everything else and protect her, please don’t let get die. Protect all of us…_

And so as soon as the light went on you jumped to your feet and started pacing. You could see the camera, you knew they – whoever was there – were watching. So, you asked, facing the camera, and asked. You needed answers.

But nothing happened.

Soon enough a nurse came in and you cried and begged and threw yourself at her.

They sedated you.

From then on, you were more careful. You reigned in all your desperation, all your grief and confusion, and all the itchy little questions that were crowding in your head. You folded them up and placed them neatly behind your old mask. Calm. Controlled. Controlled, as you’d always been, as you’d learned to be early on. No one will listen if you’re not controlled, collected, calm. The mask came on easily after a moment, second nature by now. You were thankful for being rescued, so delighted and thankful and naïve.

And you asked small stuff. You even played dumb a little, the dumb, blonde Christian girl. What’s the time? What happened? When are we seeing our parents? When are we going home? Where are the others? Are they alright? Is _she_ alright?

You asked about Toni on the second morning. Knowing you’d be sedated if you appeared even slightly off, you acted nonchalantly. As the nurse placed that band round your arm and started pumping the small valve to get your blood pressure, you cleared your throat and started, looking down at your socked feet up on the bed, as if it was all just a casual conversation, “So, do you have to, like, check on all of us? That must take you all morning, right?”

The nurse looked up with a smile before returning her attention to the device curled round your upper arm, “Oh no, I was assigned to only three su– I mean, three of you. We check that everything’s okay and you aren’t sick so that eventually y’all will get to go and see your family.”

“Oh, who’d you get? I know Toni could be a handful, and I bet Fatin’s all about demanding nothing but the greatest of cares, right? Like, silk sheets and all that?”

The nurse laughed lightly before turning to the chart she’d placed on your nightstand. She scribbled something down before deflating the band and removing it, “Oh I wouldn’t know about them, to be honest. I was assigned to you, an N. Reid and an L. Rilke.”

You nod, trying to think of another approach without letting the desperation that’s clawing at your throat win. You need to find out about Toni.

“But they’re all alright, right? I mean, Toni was bit for starters, and with the whole quarantine and all that… they’re not sick, right?” _she’s not sick, is she?_

“If you’re asking about the brunette who got bit by the shark, she’s alright,” the woman smiled caringly at you and you responded in kind as a wave of relief washed over you. You sighed, unable to hold back that tiny bit of overwhelming emotion, “and about the quarantine, I don’t think anyone’s sick either. But there’s still a window of opportunity for all kinds of bugs and nasty bacteria to infect. That’s why we have to keep y’all here.”

You nod, “I understand perfectly. Wouldn’t want anyone else to get sick because of us.”

You both laugh and soon the subject is changed. For the next check-ins you’re less obvious. Your racing mind’s been settled, at least as much as it can be, so you focus on anything and everything that the nurse can say that could be important, but she doesn’t say much.

By the time the first session with the FBI Agents rolls around, you’re already a bit suspicious. But you don’t get a chance to prove your suspicions because after your second session, the world stops.

//

The food still comes, in small trays swept inside the room through a small hinge at the bottom of your steel door. But it comes at strange times. Sometimes as soon as the lights are turned on, sometimes during the middle of the ‘day’, sometimes at ‘night’. But besides that, nothing else comes. No nurse to chat with and no agents.

And you soon lose track of time. The hours become endless at times, and then they last only seconds. One time, they turn on and off the lights almost every ten minutes. It drives you crazy. You end up burrowed into your bed, comforter over your head, face pressed onto the pillow to escape the changing lights.

You can’t sleep, though. Your body’s restless. With only about ten feet of room to move around, there’s not much you can do. You try pacing, stretching, exercising a little, but it’s no use. And your mind races too. By now you’ve become accustomed to the questions, but they still tumble around your head obsessively. You make a list. _Where’s Toni? Is she okay? Where are we? What’s going on? Where are the others? Fatin, Leah, Rachel, Martha, Nora._ Every time you think of them you hear their voices; you picture their faces. It’s the only time you feel anything more than dire desperation. _Who are this people keeping us here? When will it end? Please, God, end all of this._

You start refusing food by the fifth day, if your estimates are correct. But nothing happens. The trays start piling up inside your room, the food starts smelling, but nothing changes.

You scream at the cameras, then, sometimes for hours until your throat is hoarse. It’s useless, of course. They’re watching and it’s sick. You can just picture those faceless men sitting all day in front of a computer, watching you through the pixels. Studying you? or maybe just reveling in this slow torture they’re forcing you to live? You can’t even fathom the reason. You pray to God to help them see that what they’re doing is wrong, to give them compassion so they’ll let you go. You even pray for Him to strike them with lightning once, although you regret it immediately, if only because it feels as if that’s what it’ll take for them to just _stop._ To leave you alone.

It’s worse than being home, you think. Back home you had Becca, you had school. Away from your parents. You had bathrooms and your room and walks around the block. Moments, even if stolen, when you were certain there was no one else but you and God. Now, you’re not even sure if they’re not watching you while you pee.

*

And that’s when you try hurting yourself. You’d think that whoever they are, whatever’s happening, they’ll at least care if you’re okay. If they’re putting so much effort in keeping you in there, they _must_ care, at least in some sense.

You punch the mirror, and the shards spill everywhere. Your knuckles sting worse than anything you’ve felt before, but you push through it, teeth gritted firmly, as you lean down and pick one of the pieces from the floor.

You hold it up for the camera to see and then hold your arm beside it. Nothing happens for a few moments.

“I will do it!” you warn, your voice raw from disuse, but, again, nothing happens.

So, you close your eyes, breathe in deep, and press the sharp edge to your forearm.

It’s surprising how tender the skin is, how soft and supple. But as soon as it breaks you scream, pulling the piece of glass away, dropping it in a second.

Too late, the blood starts spilling. You try to stop it, gripping the wound with your other hand to hold back the flow, but soon enough you’re covered in red. The blood starts pooling on the floor around you soon, the smell stinging your nostrils and bringing back the memories; of Toni, of how she looked back in the beach, how a river of blood was coursing through the sand, from her small, frail body down to the waves, mixed with salt and foam and… Once again, there’s a jarring pain searing your chest as you wonder where she is, if she’s okay, if…

You pass out. Whether it’s from blood-loss or simply shock, you don’t know.

The next time you wake up you’re in your bed. Your clothes have been changed, your hair’s been washed, your knuckles and arm have been bandaged, and your room’s floor has been cleared of any old food or trays or pieces of mirror. The room smells strongly of disinfectant and something else, masked by the sterile stench. Something sweet and metallic. Blood.

They didn’t replace the mirror. In its place there’s only concrete and your only chance of glimpsing into human eyes, even if they were your own, is gone too.

And now you don’t even have the energy to cry about it.

You give in, after that.

You eat when the food comes, wash your teeth and your flipper, shower, and lay in bed. You don’t sleep. Every few ‘nights’ you pass out from exhaustion, but you don’t think of it as sleep. It’s not restful. If anything, you wake up even more tired than before.

And every time you wake up, your bandage’s been changed, your room’s been cleaned, that sterile smell comes stronger, the metallic one fainter, and your clothes have been changed.

You don’t know how to feel about it. Logically, you know you should feel bad, at least scared. Your brain screams at you. You should feel afraid, worried, pained, violated even. Strange people come in the night. You should _react._

You’re just exhausted.

//

You’re trying to eat when it happens.

You’re sitting at the edge of your bed, your tray of food on your lap, the plastic ‘spork’ on your hand as you’re washing down the small amount of rice they give you with a bit of water. But the sound of a metallic click catches your attention. Suddenly, the door slowly swings open.

Instinctively, you freeze. You think about running. You urge yourself to sprint to the open door, hold it in place in case something – anything – happens and it closes. But you’re stuck to your spot, imagining men coming in in the dark, grabbing you, changing your clothes, cleaning your wound, and you’re shaking all of a sudden.

You hear footsteps and your heart jumps to your throat. You grip the spork tightly, eyes glued to the open door as you await, breathe stuck to your throat.

But what appears on the door isn’t any men, it’s Dot.

“Dottie?” and your voice is cracked and faint and breathy, all from the panic and the endless days of silence. Dot’s face lights up as she stumbles into the room and tackles you into a hug.

“Fuck, Shelby.”

You try to speak but find you can’t. Instead, you cry.

“Hey, Shelb, it’s okay,” Dot tries to calm you, pulling back and holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look her in the eyes, “are you okay?”

You nod, unable to explain to her that you’re crying out of relief.

Because at some point you’d started believing you’d never see anyone ever again. As you thought of them their faces became blurred, their voices hazier. Only Toni’s remains a bit clearer, maybe because it’s the face you thought of the most. But the rest… you parents, you think, and you can’t recall their voices at all. Mel and Spencer… You can see their faces, but they appear far, far away. Too far to even care, too far to be relevant at all, really. Why do you even think of them? Of any of them? Maybe they’re not even real. After all, what do you have of them other than their faces in your mind? You think of them as memories, but what if they’re not? What if you made them up because the Hell inside that room was too much for you to bear? The loneliness too hard, the desperation and meaninglessness too stark?

Maybe the whole island had been a crazy fever dream. Maybe even the outside world was a dream, too. Maybe you didn’t really have any parents or siblings, maybe there was no church, no pageants, no trip to Hawaii. No girls, no Toni. Only that room, and the trays of food, and the bandage on your arm.

But Dot is suddenly there, and she’s gripping your shoulders tightly, and she’s grinning like an idiot in front of you. So, you steel yourself as best you can, drawing in a shaky breath, and nod, “Of course, Dottie. I’m just so glad to see your lovely face.”

“Flirt.” Dot chuckles, letting go of you and standing up, “C’mon, we need to go. I think maybe there was some kind of error that got the doors open. Maybe we can find the rest and get out of here.”

You feel your throat start to close up again as fear sparkles in your chest. Go outside. You don’t know why but it frightens you a little. They didn’t care if you hurt yourself, if you didn’t eat or sleep or stay sane inside so what if they’re letting you go only because there’s something worse outside?

“I– I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dottie.” you say, eyeing the open door wearily.

“The hell you’re saying?” Dot frowns, “We need to escape. Now.”

You shake your head, swallowing through the lump on your throat as you pick the tray that’s still on your lap and place it beside you on the bed before standing, “Look, Dottie, I want to escape just as much as you, but– I mean, we don’t know what’s out there. What if there’s something worse?”

*

You plead at her with your eyes, trying to show her the fear you’re feeling, gripping your hands in front of yourself to keep them from shaking. That’s when Dot looks down and see the small piece of gauze peeking from under your sleeve, “Fuck, Shelby, what happened? What did they do to you?”

She reaches over and gently grips your wrist, pulling back the sleeve.

The wound’s almost healed, the stitches they’d put in already removed, but you guess the gauze is to prevent infection, or you picking at it like you’d started picking at every single piece of loose skin or scab or hair you’d found.

You chuckle, “Oh, no that was– you see, I had a little accident with the mirror I–”

Dot looks up, realization dawning on her eyes. You force the grin in your face to stay put, the mask to hold, even as your stomach starts shriveling, dangerously close to returning what little you’d managed to put into it.

“You’re coming with me. Let’s go.” She grips your healthy arm’s writs, not tightly but firm, and pulls. You don’t object this time.

//

You run around empty concrete hallways aimlessly for what feels like hours. Dot doesn’t let go of your hand once. She leads you every which way with little hesitance in choosing where to turn, which stairs to take, up or down.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” you ask after what feels like the third time you pass the same hallway.

“Nope, but I’m hoping we eventually run into another open door like yours.”

//

You find one about ten minutes later, Rachel’s, and you find her sleeping inside.

Then, about two hallways down, you find Leah, Martha and Fatin running in the opposite direction you’re going, almost crushing into you.

“Where’s the rest?” Dot asks as you all huddle closely in the middle of the hallway.

“Have you guys seen Toni?” Martha asks, scared.

An hour must’ve passed since Dot came crushing into your room, you think, and yet you haven’t seen anyone other than the other girls. Your skin tingles, crawling as you consider exactly _what_ could be going on. Especially since you still haven’t found either Nora or Toni. Toni.

“I don’t know but this shit’s fucked up, right?” Leah’s eyes are blown wide, her voice filled with panic, “I mean, first they lock us up for, what? Twenty days? And now this? There’s no one here. It’s deserted _except_ for us.”

“Look, Leah, not that I don’t think there’s something really _wrong_ here – I do –, but I think the most urgent thing for us right now is to find the rest.” Dot tries to keep her voice steady.

You look at the other’s faces. Rachel looks startled, watching over everyone’s heads to either ends of the hallway as if expecting someone to appear. Fatin’s watching Dot and Leah discuss, her hands covered by her sweater’s sleeves, and Martha’s rocking slightly on the ball of her feet, watching them, too.

“I’m with Dot. We need to find Nora. And Toni.” Rachel says, “Which side?”

“Me and Shelby went through every hallway to the left, let’s try right.”

//

You stumble through hallways as if in a haze, following the rest of the girls almost senselessly. You’re already exhausted, your body unable to keep up with the constant pull of Dot’s hand in yours. You’re thin, you realize, your stomach achingly empty, your skin tautly stretched over bones from the days at the island, and then the days you refused to eat and the little exercise you’ve done. You’re weak and tired and confused but you try and pull through, concentrating on their faces. They look tired too, and thinner, eyes hollow, cheeks caved in, skin pealed. But they’re no longer blurred, their voices no longer hazy. They’re clear and close and _there._ Present, real, tangible, _there_.

You’re two levels up when you find Nora. She’s trying to open a door when you turn a corner and see her.

“Nora!” Rachel screams, pushing her way through the group before rushing to her sister’s side. They hug briefly before Rachel pulls back and hold Nora’s shoulders, “Where the fuck where you?”

But Nora’s crying silently, and she can’t look Rachel in the eye as she mumbles something unintelligible over and over, eyes fixed on Rachel’s chest.

The rest of you approach as Leah asks, “What were you trying with that door?”

Nora looks up then, as if just then realizing there’s more people around her.

“I’m _so_ sorry.” she mutters, her voice quivering and watery, “about everything I–”

“What?” Leah steps closer, her voice aggressive. But Rachel cuts her off, “Hey, back off, alright?”

“Guys, please don’t fight. We still need to find Toni, remember?” Martha pulls them both out of their almost dispute as Nora sniffles, “I know where she is.”

You snap out of your haze then, suddenly feeling as if you’re finally fully present once Toni’s name is mentioned, “Wait, what? Where is she?”

Nora points to the closed door she was trying to open, her eyes big, like a deer on the headlights’ “This is supposed to be the sick bay. Last I– last I heard she was still in there.”

“How do you know that, Nora?” Leah takes another step closer to Nora, her eyes like daggers, her bottom lip pulled in, her teeth digging into tight skin.

“I told you Leah, back off or you’ll be fucking sorry, aright?” Rachel’s voice raises as she steps between her sister and Leah. But Leah just pulls her hands into fists and narrows her eyes at Rachel, “She knows something, Rachel, and you’re defending her? She’s with them,” She cranks her neck to face Nora over Rachel’s shoulder, “aren’t you, Nora? Admit it, you’re with them! You know what’s going on!”

“Okay, yes! I am!” Nora cracks, pulling her arms around herself and stepping back. Everyone seems to draw in a breath as silence settles in the hallway, “I mean, I– I _was_ , I’m not with them anymore. I– I refused to cooperate after what– after I saw–”

“You fucking–” Leah throws herself at Nora before she can even finish her own sentence which is instead replaced with a shrill scream, “Aah!”

Leah raises her hand and there’s something sharp gripped between her fingers. In a split second, Fatin throws herself at Leah’s arm to try and catch whatever she’s wielding. There’s chaos then as the rest try to pull them apart.

“Leah, settle down, will you? Fuck, don’t– Leah stop!” Fatin calls as she struggles to hold Leah’s wrist. As they stand still for a moment you recognize the sharp point of a pencil poking through Leah’s hand, sharpened enough for it to be dangerous.

Meanwhile Dot and Martha hold Rachel back, “Rachel, stop!”

But you turn to the door.

It’s the same as the one on your room. Cold, red metal. There’s a handle, but it’s useless due to the internal lock that’s keeping it closed. Electrical lock.

Electrical.

A though occurs to you and you step back, searching the wall.

You find what you’re looking for a second later. You step towards it and kneel, observing the output as your thoughts race for a way to mess with it.

You think about that time when you were three and your mom caught you trying to stick a Barbie’s arm through one of the holes and had you grounded for almost a whole week. You wish you had that Barbie here, now.

“Shelby?” Martha calls your name, but you ignore it. Maybe with your nail… but then it wouldn’t really mess with the current. You need something metal, ideally, or something to smash the outlet so you can reach in and truly cut the power.

If you’re thinking logically, safety precautions should open everything in case of a power shortage to allow for speedy exits. You hope the place was built logically.

So, you just need a way to remove that small plastic panel that’s stopping you from cutting the whole facility’s power. Ideally.

In frustration, you stand and kick it, but it’s useless.

“Hey, Shelby, what the hell, what are you trying?” Dot’s by your side in a moment. You turn to her before glancing over her shoulder. Leah’s struggling in Fatin’s embrace as the other girl whispers something on Leah’s ears. But Leah’s eyes are set on Nora as she speaks quietly to Rachel and Martha a few feet away.

You shake your head. Focus.

“The power.” You say, “The lock’s electrical, right? So, if we cut the power then it should open.”

“Yeah, and we’d be blind too.”

“But we could go in. Get Toni.” You hope Dot doesn’t notice how your voice breaks on Toni’s name, the desperation you’re so forcefully trying to keep at bay, buried in your stomach, _controlled_ , making a show of trying to break free. You swallow, forcing it down.

Dot considers it for a moment before nodding, “Alright, it’s worth a shot, I guess.”

You nod, thankful, before turning back to the outlet, “We just need something to get the plastic part off.”

“Leah’s pencil?” Dot suggests.

The two of you turn to Leah and Fatin. Fatin’s dropped the pencil on the floor, her focus on Leah and holding her back from attacking Nora again.

“Hey! Where’s the pencil, Rilke?” Dot calls. The pair turns to them, “Nora’s– she’s _responsible_ for all of this, can’t you see? We’ve got to do something!”

“Okay, Leah, babe, I need you to calm down, please. We get it, okay? We believe you. Nora is evil, it’s okay. This is just not the moment, please,” Fatin tries to sound calming, but her voice trembles.

“Floor.” You say and Dot looks down. She picks the pencil quickly and turns back to you, “Let’s hope your plan works, Goodkind.”

The first time Dot tries to go straight for the power output and sparks fly as she stabs the hole with the pencil’s point. But the lights overhead only flicker before regaining their normal brightness.

“Christ!” you call, frustrated. You pull the pencil from Dot’s hands and lean closer but, instead of going for the direct outlet hole, you pick at the plastic cover’s edges. Dot’s about to protest before she realizes what you’re trying.

You get it to pop open in about five tries, after you broke the pencil’s point twice without even sharpening it in between.

“Fuck yes!”

“Language.” Dot mutters. You swat at her shoulder and she chuckles. Then, you both lean over the little whole on the wall.

There’re a billion cables running through, with three different ones that end in that socket. But it’s dark and you know nothing of electrical work.

“You know which one to pull?” Dot asks. You shrug before reaching in and pulling.

You think of the old saying, the one that talks about someone walking over your grave. It’s stupid, you think. Because there’s no warning as your hand wraps around the mess of cables and you pull, and something snaps and suddenly your whole body’s seizing up and there’s pain everywhere.

You open your eyes after what feels like a second, but you can’t see anything all of a sudden. For a moment you think your eyes are just still closed but you blink several times to convince yourself they’re not.

“Shelby?” someone shakes your shoulder, and you turn to the source of the sound but, again, you don’t see anything, “Dot?”

“Fuck,” and there’s immense relief in that one word as you hear her shuffle beside you, and sigh. But her hand remains on your shoulder, which you’re thankful for. Without it, you’d start doubting the realness of their voices as the rest of the girls start speaking,

“Jesus Christ Shelby, I know you love God and all that, but that is _not_ the way to go about meeting Him!”

“You could’ve died, Shelby, the voltage on that wall must’ve been massive.”

“Shelby are you alright? Are you in pain?”

“That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen, you know that, right?”

You decide to address Martha’s concerns since all the other ones are just addressing your stupidity which, fair, now that you’re thinking back on it.

“I’m alright, I think.” You say as you try to sit up. Your limbs are stiff, and you groan. Everything hurts as if you’d been exercising non-stop for a whole week, your muscles tight and tired and sore.

“You were unconscious for a very long time, you should rest.” A hand comes to rest on your chest and another one on your arm as they try to push you back.

But you shake your head and push them away before remembering they can’t see you, “No, we need to find Toni.”

They give up on trying to keep you down a moment later as you calm their worries, insisting you feel fine. Your whole body’s screaming at you to sit back and die for a while, but you push through, only one coherent thought in your mind, to find Toni.

As you stand, a hand on Dot’s arm and the other on Martha’s as they help you steady yourself, there’s a flash of something and suddenly the whole world comes to life again, except it’s covered in red. Shortly after, an alarm starts blasting, jarring and periodical.

“Shit.” You hear Dot mutter.

“It must be the emergency system.” You hear Nora’s voice behind you, but it doesn’t matter. Now that you can see, even if hardly, you stumble towards the door.

//

A lot of things happen in a matter of seconds.

Once you cross the doorway you find a strange, long room with beds to either side. There’s only one bed occupied, and you run to it. The monitors and machines around her are all beeping, flatlined and you worry for a moment before remembering you just cut the main power of the whole building.

Thankfully, she seems to be breathing on her own, so you only pull at the IV line on her arm and the monitors and she’s ready to go.

“Rachel, you grab her arms, I’ll take her legs.” Dot’s instructing as soon as you’re all surrounding Toni’s bed. She’s asleep, her face a quiet shell of the angry girl that’s beneath. Your heart aches as you smile and reach out to cradle her cheek. You don’t realize you’re crying a little.

“We should grab, like, weapons and stuff, right?” Fatin chimes in, “I mean, it’s not like they’ll let us out just like that. I mean, getting us all together runnin’ around is one thing but escaping’s a whole ‘nother one. And on top of it Shelby’s fucked their whole electricity.”

And so, you all grab the closest thing you can think of. You find a pair of scissors on a table behind Toni’s bed and grip them tightly.

When you’re all ready, armed, with an unconscious Toni on Dot and Rachel’s arms, about to sprint out, the door swings open.

“Girls!”

It’s Agent Young, you recognize him. He looks sweaty and disheveled, his tie loose and his jacket nowhere to be seen. You immediately raise your scissors and glare at him, and from the corner of your eye you catch the rest of the girls doing the same.

“Get the fuck away from us.” Leah warns with that feral tone in her voice that tells you she’s just as willing to use the scalpel in her hands against him as she is of breathing.

“You don’t understand,” he tries to explain, raising his hands, “I’m on your side, right Nora?”

You turn to the aforementioned girl and find her looking between the group and the agent. She swallows thickly before speaking, “He’s telling the truth. He told me where to find Toni.”

“I don’t care what he fucking told you, Nora.” Leah eyes her wearily, as if considering turning her scalpel in her direction. She’s about to speak when the agent interrupts her, “I’m telling the truth, Leah. Like it or not. I know what we did to you is wrong, I can see it now and I’m trying to make things right. You can escape, but only if you do as I say.”

“Like hell we will.”

“Leah, I think maybe we should listen to him.” Dot’s voice makes Leah, and you, turn back. She’s got Toni in her arms and looks desperate, “I mean, he’s the only chance we’ve got. We’ve been running around this place for hours now. There’s no way we can find the exit on our own.”

//

You stay by Toni’s side all the way. You can’t pull your eyes from her face as you stumble through empty, dark hallways, run up and down stairs, listen for guards every time you’re about to turn a corner. Because it’s so peaceful it’s almost like she’s no longer there.

According to agent Young she’s in a coma and has been in it since the bite due to the amount of blood loss during the attack and the surgery afterwards. You can’t even stop to wonder if it makes sense or not, you just keep your eyes on her as Rachel and Dot carry her and you run.

Stage 3.

That’s what Agent Young called it. Stage 1: the island. Stage 2: rescue and confinement. Stage 3: escape. Or at least the false escape you’re supposed to attempt. The bunker’s on another island. The idea behind stage 3 was for you all to try and scape, lull you into a false sense of freedom as you leave the bunker only to be dropped into another heavily monitored island where you must survive, again, except now with a common enemy that’s supposed to pull you all closer together or something like that.

Agent Young hastily explains all of this as he leads you down corridors until you reach a set of stairs, where he turns, wishes you luck, and leaves and you’re back on your own.

So, the plan is to escape, and then escape again, basically.

Or at least that’s what you get from his explanation. And you know it sounds a little stupid, but you can’t really focus on his life-saving instructions because you’re stuck watching Toni’s face, her chest as it rises and falls, her fingers as they lightly twitch every now and then.

Nora takes the lead then, against Leah’s protests, and she leads you up all the way. Soon you’re replacing Dot on Toni duty, and later Fatin takes Rachel’s spot, and then Leah takes Fatin’s place. But you pull through. Your hands clasped over Toni’s chest – thick with gauze under her sweatshirt –, your arms under her armpits, her back against your chest. You hug her closer every time you fell as if your legs are giving up under yourself.

//

You make it to the last floor just as a group of men enter the stairs a few floors under. They’re screaming at you in a moment and the group panics.

“Nora, where to now?!” Rachel calls pushing open the door marked as ‘ground floor’.

“There’s supposed to be a long hallway and then a reception area, and then a wooden door to the left.”

And there it is. You stumble through the hallway, this time made of polished wooden floor and smooth white walls with paintings and artistic pictures hung every few steps. There’s a three feet tall potted plant on one corner and Dot doesn’t hesitate before pulling it until it’s crashing behind you, spilling the dirt and crushed ceramic all over the way.

You reach the entrance and find a group of men and women in casual work attire huddled close, pencil skirts, ties, and so on. As soon as they see you and they pull back, screaming. You guess you can’t look very friendly with the sharp weapons, Toni passed out, and your peeled-off skin.

But you don’t dwell too much on them before you hear the guards behind you have left the stairs so you all hurry to the wooden doors and Rachel pulls them open and, suddenly, there’s the sun.

//

You run through thick bushes and trees until you can’t see straight anymore and, beside you, Fatin collapses onto the ground, so as a group you collectively just stop for a moment and, as you look around for a second, it almost feels nostalgic. You’re back on square one with the other seven, in the middle of nowhere, trying to survive.

You close your eyes for a moment as you sit and Dot – who’d helped you and Leah carry Toni’s body as you ran through the forest – lets go of Toni’s arm so you can pull Toni’s small chest with you. You feel Leah drop Toni’s legs and you pull her closer, snuggling into her neck as you try to catch your breath. Her hair smells strange, of disinfectant and gauze and stale air and hospital. But as you snuggle your nose closer, making contact with the skin on the back of her neck you find the smell of soft, warm skin that’s been caked under the sun for just little bit too long. And there’s still some salt and ocean air in there too, along with something like lemons and she’s still Toni, you tell yourself, because her hands are still as calloused as before, her lips still as thin and set, and her jaw still as sharp.

“We should keep moving.” Dot speaks, but she’s bending over, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever Dorothy.” Fatin, from her spot in the middle of their little clearing, responds. She’s got her eyes closed and chest heaving as she lays down on the ground, face up towards the treetops, “Just give us a minute to fucking breathe.”

“I don’t think those guards will give us a minute, Fatin.” Leah comments. She’s found a small fallen log and is perched on top of it, her elbows on her knees as she, too, tries to catch her breath.

Silence follows her statement. You try to settle your racing heart, thinking back on your father’s tips on how to calm down after an especially intense spinning session. Deep breathes, concentration, calmness. Control.

You try to listen for footsteps but the only things you catch are the girl’s loud breaths and the roaring thunder of the blood rushing through your ears.

You pull away and settle Toni’s body more comfortably then. Your heart’s starting to settle so you think about checking in on her, maybe see if the whole escape did something to her; to either worsen or better the situation you don’t want to even consider.

You sit crossed-legged and settle her head on your lap, pushing the stray hairs away from her face. You check her breathing, and then her pulse, trying to remember everything you learned while volunteering at that hospital so many years ago.

“Is she okay, Shelby?” Martha approaches the two of you slowly before kneeling beside you and placing a soft hand over Toni’s stomach.

But Toni’s alright. Breathing normally, pulse normal, temperature fine.

“She’s–” you choke a little before swallowing and continuing, “She’s okay, I think. Still in a coma.”

“Fuck.” You hear someone say and you look up only to find the rest staring directly at you, faces scared and expectant. It was Rachel who’d spoken, you realize, as the girl stands and walks over to check on Toni, too, “You think there’s anything we can do about it?”

And she’s addressing you, as if somehow, you’d know something they don’t, as if you knew anything about what is going on. You want to cry so badly you feel a sob suddenly press against the roof of your mouth, but you swallow thickly and look away, pressing your eyelids tightly together to get rid of the tears starting to pool there.

You breathe – one, twice, thrice – and then turn back to them, certain in a new kind of mask you’re wearing, knowing that what they need now is your strength, even if you’re panicking. They need to be reassured just like you, so you give them that. Because you understand what they need and you also understand what must be done, how you need to keep moving unless you want to get caught. You don’t need to hide with them, but to support them when they can’t support themselves. Because you know they will do the same with you once your time comes. You’re certain of it now, as you watch them for a moment. You’re certain of _them_.

“I don’t know.” You say, “sometimes talking to them helps, I think. But it all depends on how deep the coma is. And we won’t know that until we can observe her for a longer period of time.”

There is silence then as they drink in your words. You didn’t tell them about the levels of responsiveness, or the chances she has of waking up – which are never good, even in the best of cases.

“Alright then,” Dot claps her hands in front of her as she rises to her feet, “We need to get going again, then. Find a shelter, hide out for the night, at least, and then go looking for that port Agent Young talked about.”

“Okay but, like, why aren’t we considering maybe he was lying about that?” Leah pipes in immediately.

“He wasn’t lying about anything else.” Rachel reasons, albeit a little angrily.

“But what if it’s all a part of the experiment, too?” Leah continues. She has that look on her face again, that feral hunger that makes her eyes pop out and her nostrils flare, “What if the experiment was all about him telling us about it and making us self-aware or something, just to see if we’d trust him and do what he says or just go our own way?”

“What?” Dot stepped towards Leah, “Look, Leah, I honestly didn’t get, like, half of what you were saying but, whatever your concerns are, I’m sure we can go over them once we find shelter from the men who are – quite literally – chasing us right now.”

//

You find a shallow cave about an hour later, just as the sun starts setting. Thankfully, it’s just deep enough for you to light a fire without alerting nearby predators – aka the guards.

You manage to start a fire with a lighter Nora had in her pocket. Where she got it from, you ignore, but you’re thankful. Unlike Leah, who starts droning on and on about her accusations and theories, you don’t really care much about it all right now, weather Nora was a spy or not, whether it was all a trap or not, etc. you’re just really tired. And with Toni’s unconscious body by your side, the rest of the girls around you, it almost feels like all your problems are solved.

So, as you settle Toni’s small body onto the cave’s cold floor, you lower yourself down beside her, draping an arm protectively over her chest. And you fall asleep almost instantly.

//

You wake up with a startle. All around, the walls of the cave are licked by warm, orange lights and for a moment you think they’re on fire. But then you realize it’s just the reflection of the fire that’s still burning in the middle of the room. You pull yourself up into a sitting position and look around only to find the girls sleeping soundlessly around you. Fatin and Leah are sleeping, side by side, holding hands. Nora and Rachel cuddle together. Martha’s curled up a few inches beside Toni, her hand gripping the comatose girl’s tightly. And Dot sits by the fire, her head resting on her hand almost as if she’d fallen asleep by accident while she was on fire duty, which was probably what happened.

You smile.

You missed the island, but maybe not because of the place, you think now, but because of them.

You cry for a moment, reaching up to cover your mouth before a loud sob can escape. But you’re no longer silencing your sobs because of shame or embarrassment, and you’re no longer sad. You’re trying to let them rest. And you’re happy, crying happy, relieved tears that help you with the release you’ve been craving ever since that dreadful day with the mussels when everything started, when all that tension started crawling into your muscles, under your skin, wrapping itself around you until you were choking.

When you’re done, and your face is covered in wet trails, you lean back against the cave’s wall and close your eyes. You hear their breathes, slow and steady, and you hear the fire’s creaking. Further away, you hear the wind passing through the leaves and the odd cricket or bug.

You’re only missing the waves’ crash and it’s like you’re back there.

But then it hits you again. Toni.

You look down and feel that almost-familiar-by-now stab in your chest. She’s calm, too calm, laying down exactly as you’d left her before falling asleep, her dark hair sprawling around her like a halo, reflecting the firelight in slow, flickering blazes. She’s breathing, but she’s not _there_. Not really. You reach down and comb your fingers through her hair, scratching lightly.

“I need you to wake up, Toni.” The words slip your mouth before you can stop them. You look up immediately, afraid someone else might have heard you, but they’re all sound asleep so you turn back to Toni, swallow, and continue,

“I owe you a kiss, you know? And you can’t really cash it in if you’re asleep.” You laugh lightly, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. You’re quite literally admitting it. Admitting it all in one single phrase. Your heart flutters as your stomach churns and you’re not really sure if it’s due to the excitement or the fear. You want her, and denying it any longer, after everything you’ve gone through, suddenly feels _so_ stupid. But still Toni’s face remains still. You sigh. It’s dumb, you think. A run through the forest, being pushed and pulled and tumbled around, didn’t wake her, but this will? You pull your knees up and rest your forehead on them, breathing in slowly, “Fuck, I can’t believe I said that, but it’s true. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, y’know? All those days in that room, all alone. And all I thought about was you.”

You stop because you’re choking a little and instead watch her. Her hand starts twitching a little, the one Marty’s not holding, so you reach out and thread your fingers through hers. You squeeze and, for a split second, she seems to squeeze back.

“Toni?” you call breathily. She doesn’t respond.

You drop your head back on your knees and sigh heavily.

“My Daddy always said… he always said, ‘God only does beautiful, Shelbs.’ I tried real hard to believe him because I wanted to believe God thought I was beautiful. But I never really could, y’know? Not until I saw you.”

Toni’s eyelashes fluttered and you drew in a breath. But then nothing else happened. You sighed, feeling heavy and tired.

“You’re beautiful Toni.” You continue because, even if she’s not listening, even if she can’t, the feeling, the fluttering in your chest and your stomach that comes from finally – after years and years of half-truths and uncomfortable masks – finally you’re able to speak freely, even if it’s only for the ears of a comatose girl who you lo–

Who you value.

You sigh again, “Maybe I could annoy you into waking up?” you chuckle lightly before squeezing her hand. Again, she squeezes back lightly, and you consider it being some kind of muscle-spasm response. Just a mirror of your own actions, “God knows that could work, judging by our history.”

Then, you add, frowning, “I didn’t mean it to go that way. I mean, maybe I did, in the beginning. Fighting with you… if felt like riding dirt bikes. Exhilarating and fun, almost addictive. You were always ready to one-up me, ready for the challenge. You were just dying to poke at me, and I was dying to poke at you back. Like a twisted game of verbal tug-o-war.” You pause, reveling on the memories and the growing feeling of release that talking about it is giving you before you dive into the hard part, “But then the mussels… I know my explanation that night wasn’t enough.” You chuckle lightly, “It was really shitty, to tell you the truth. I don’t now how you just took it.”

Again, Toni’s hand twitches in yours, squeezes, and you smile. For a moment you try and pretend it’s real. What would you even do if it were? You’d probably panic, just like you did last time. You’d run away. You’re not ready, you think, for all that. Even thinking about it makes your muscles go stiff, you vision to tunnel, your senses to shut down and your mind to go dizzy.

“My parents… they’re not–” you sigh, looking away. Against the walls, the flames flicker. Leah, in her sleep, turns over and suddenly she’s snuggling against Fatin’s side. You smile a little before sighing again, “They’re perfect, y’know? And I’m– I’m _not._ Not like they want me to be, anyways. And _God_ do I try but it’s just not really– it’s not… it’s exhausting. I’m so tired. I wish I could just lay down next to you and go to sleep for a while with you, honestly.”

You look back at Toni’s face and watch her. Her eyelids flutter every few seconds, almost like she’s trying to wake up. But her breathing’s even and her hand has stopped squeezing, so you don’t really think much of it.

You stay like that, her hand in yours, just watching her, until your eyelids start to feel heavy again. You lean down then, stretching yourself until you’re laying down next to Toni. You hesitate before snuggling closer. Her body’s warm and comfortable, so you settle your head on her chest and the steady sound of her heart beating feels like a lullaby singing you softly to sleep. She’s there, you think, she’s there and she will wake up.

You’re almost asleep when you hear it.

A mumble, almost wishful thinking.

“Shgry…”

You raise your head immediately, drawing in a shaky breath. You watch her and for a moment nothing comes.

“Toni? Can you hear me?” you ask in a whisper, “Please Toni, I know you can hear me, God, please. Wake up.”

She grumbles and groans and, suddenly, she frowns and its like her whole body frowns with her. The hand you’d been holding suddenly grips your forcefully, and she curls up her legs, and Martha beside her stirs a little as Toni’s other hand squeezes too.

“Fuck, Toni, c’mon you can do it.” you don’t realize you’re crying, your voice climbing an octave higher as adrenaline starts coursing through your veins, “Open your eyes. I’m right here, you can do it.”

“Shelby.” She calls, her eyes still closed but her voice clear as day, husk and low and annoyed, “Please just shut up, you’re giving me a headache.”

You laugh, loudly, and she groans again.

But then her eyes are open and there’s a fire there. The flames around you reflect on her brown irises like flames licking molted embers. She’s awake and she’s frowning at you, trying to pull herself up. You help her, still laughing lightly every now and then out of pure and exuberant relief. It’s like your heart’s dam has broken, and everything’s just tumbling down. No more masks, you think, not here, not with her.

And it’s so easy.

You help her sit up and then move her to lean back on the cave’s wall. She doesn’t say much, only grumbles and groans and whines because her whole body seems to hurt, especially her abdomen.

You think about her wound there but fail to amount enough courage to venture a look.

“How’re you feelin’?” you ask her once she’s settled against the rough cave’s wall. You’re surprised you haven’t woken anyone else, not even Martha. But you’re thankful. You need this. Just a few moments with her alone. To get your bearings, to settle your racing heart.

Toni swallows hard before responding, “Weird. My head hurts like a bitch. What happened?”

“How much do you remember?”

Toni’s cheeks seem to color a little and she looks away, almost coy. You wonder what that’s about until she speaks, “I remember your voice… you were talking to me.”

“Oh.”

Then, she turns back to you and there’s a soft intensity in her eyes that pulls you in at the same time it dries your throat. Her eyes drop to your lips for a moment, but you hold yourself back, swallowing hard again. You know where this is going and you’re not sure…

“Did you mean it?”

Her eyes are back on yours and you can see her plead, almost like she’d begging you to say _yes, yes I meant it._

“Every single word.” You breathe out.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

You feel yourself blushing, a smile curling up your lips.

Suddenly, she smirks, “And you owe me a kiss,” but her eyes are hooded and she’s stealing small glances at your lips again, and you can’t help it as your eyes travel down, if only for a moment, to catch sight of hers.

They’re so close, it would only take a small impulse, really. Leaning in and done.

“I do.” you confirm as you feel something hot and itchy starting to uncoil in your chest. For a moment you think it shouldn’t. You think, maybe I should reign it in, _control it_. But you don’t. For the first time, maybe, you let it go and instead _feel_ it. Feel as it spreads from your chest down your stomach, through your legs down to your toes and back up again until it’s pulling an even bigger smile from your lips.

And Toni waits. She watches you, her eyes hungry but also restrained, like she’s waiting. Waiting for you to move.

“Are you sure?” she asks, and her lips are inches from yours, her breath ghosting over your mouth and making you shiver lightly.

You crash your lips against hers as a response. And yeah, maybe it’s a bit rushed and rough and maybe you squeeze her cheeks a little as you reach up to cradle her face, but her lips are on you and they’re sweet and soft and you feel like crying yet again.

Toni’s surprised, you can tell. She’s stiff for a moment before her hands reach up to your waist and settle there, grasping lightly, and her lips start moving against yours, deepening the kiss.

A million days could have passed, and you’d have been none-the-wiser. Everything that matters to you in that moment are Toni’s lips, Toni’s hands, Toni’s scent, her warmth, her little satisfied sigh as you move one of your hands to the back of her neck and tangle your fingers in the hair there, pulling lightly, and her groan when you bite lightly on her bottom lip before chuckling.

You pull apart for a moment, to catch your breathes, and you smile as you look into her eyes and find that fire from before, burning surely. This time it’s clear, the invitation written there, “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I really just couldn't help myself and there were quite a few comments about that cliff hanger (which was absolutely unintentional, I just thought I'd end it in the same fashion S1 ended, lmao) so I just had to write this second part. I was also meaning to post it sooner but I'm not currently home and my internet here's shit so I couldn't (same goes to my other fics - if you're waitng on them, please don't give up, my Wifi's just an asshole).

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! It didn't turn up quite like I intended but I think it was okay nonetheless. If you've got any other ideas send them my way! At yourstrullyme on Tumblr (I also accept theories and headcanons and whatevs btw, love them in fact).


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